Bad Medicine
by WontYouBeMyBiffle
Summary: Dean always did go for the red-heads.


She awoke to the feeling of his lips pressed to the nape of her neck. His breath ghosted into her hair, making her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. In fact, she was perfectly, blessedly warm in a way that she hadn't been in a very long time. She snuggled backwards into the source of the warmth, and she felt his chest rumble against her back. The arm wrapped around her middle tightened, and she felt his hand slide up the bare skin of her stomach to rest on her ribcage. She felt the sleep start to melt away from her and she groaned, somewhat unconsciously sliding her legs backwards so that she could entangle them with his.

She sighed in contentment and she felt him stir behind her. His lips moved against her neck and her breath hitched as a lightning bolt of pleasure rocketed from her neck all the way down to her toes. The hand on her ribcage slid further up until his thumb was brushing the bottom of her breast and she nearly gasped. The pillow under her head moved slightly and she felt him press himself closer to her. And then she felt, clearly and distinctly, how hard he was. Her eyes snapped open.

Wait. Wait, she thought. She desperately searched her memory for a clue as to why they were in bed together. As she stared straight ahead, she could see the other bed, the blankets tousled and clearly slept in. She KNEW that they had gone to bed separately the night before, but what had changed? She closed her eyes for a minute, fighting to ignore his hot breath on the back of her neck, and tried to concentrate.

They had driven back to the motel, sore and exhausted, after getting the shit kicked out of them by the angry spirit that had been haunting her apartment building for the past few years. He had been tossed through a window, Sam had been thrown down the stairs, and she had done it all. The spirit had possessed her body and forced her to hurt them, to fight them. In the end, she had begged them to kill her, and she remembered the conflict in his eyes at her pleas. He had later said that the fact that she had broken through the spirit's hold meant that she was "probably someone worth saving", which explained his hesitation. Either way, she was thankful for it- when Sam figured out that the spirit's bones were hidden in the walls of the building, the victim of a decades' old crime, he set the place on fire. She could vaguely remember the spirit finally leaving her body, and nearly collapsing to the ground. But he had caught her, thrown her over his shoulder, and ran out of the blazing building. The three of them had watched the building burn to its foundation, the two men holding her up as she watched her life crumble and burn before her.

They had driven silently back to the motel, and they had bought her a room for the night. But, somehow, as she sat silently on the bed, staring blankly ahead in shock and denial, Sam had taken the new room, and she was left alone with him. He had thrust a bottle of whiskey at her, and she had gratefully taken it and downed a few swigs until her head felt fuzzy enough for her to sleep. She remembered him pulling the blankets up over her and turning off the lights, settling in the other bed. And then... ah, now she remembered.

She had woken in the middle of the night, shaking and shivering and freezing. She had lay awake, terrified, haunted by the feeling of complete possession of something so purely evil, until he had finally huffed loud enough to snap her out of her thoughts.

"I can hear your teeth chattering all the way over here. Stop trying to be quiet and c'mere," he had told her in his gruff manner. She hadn't argued, hadn't really thought anything, before she was clambering under the covers with him and snuggling against his chest. She remembered how stiff he was at first, but then as sleep claimed him, he had relaxed against her and pulled her into him, as if it was second-nature. They had both slept soundly.

But now, the comforting presence of each other's body was clearly turning into something more serious. And while her head was telling her that it was possibly the worst idea in the entire world ever, her body was telling her something entirely different. She was no stranger to one-night-stands, but this was worlds different. Whether they had meant to or not, they had already shared a far-too-intimate experience, which meant that any interaction between the two of them would mean more than it normally would. Already, she was too comfortable in his embrace, too content with how her body tucked into his. And every time she breathed in, she relished the smell of him- masculine, musky, with the slightest bite of whiskey.

She felt him stir once more behind her. His breath hitched for a moment as he unconsciously pushed his erection into her. There was silence and stillness for a moment.

"Shit. Sorry," she heard him mumble. He started to turn away from her.

In a flash, she had flipped over to face him. Blue stared into green. His hand, still too sleep-heavy to react to her quick movements, lay warm against her skin, under her tank top that had ridden up during the night. They stared at each other for a moment, until she finally threw caution to the wind and hoped her morning breath wasn't too terrible.

"Too late, Dean," she whispered. "Way too late."

She grabbed a fistful of the front of his t-shirt and pulled until their lips finally met. As goose-bumps rose on her skin, she could feel the exact second when his body won the battle against his brain. His grip on her side tightened, and he began to kiss her back, his lips sliding against hers over and over. His hand slid to her back and his fingers spread wide as he moved his other arm from under the pillow to the back of neck. She felt his fingers weave into the back of her hair and suddenly, his hold tightened on her and he pulled her into him, his tongue invading her mouth and dueling with hers. She kissed him like she would die without it, and perhaps, at this point, she would've.

It was embarrassing, how hard she was panting for him already. She ran her hands up his stomach, feeling his muscles contract under her fingertips. She grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled upwards, only moving away from his full, incredible, talented lips when it was absolutely necessary to get the material off of him. He took the opportunity to move his attentions from her lips to her neck, and she couldn't hold back the moan that snuck out of her mouth when his lips closed over the sensitive skin there. She felt him grin, and it was completely unacceptable.

With strength she had no idea that she possessed, she rolled them over so that he lay on his back and she straddled his hips. She sat up and he gazed up at her, his chest heaving and his eyes dark with lust. His hands grasped at her hips and she smiled lazily as she tore off her own shirt, throwing it carelessly to the side. His eyes darkened further as he stared at her breasts, barely encased in her favorite black, push-up bra that she thanked the heavens that she had chosen to wear the morning before. She reached awkwardly behind herself to unhook it, but he quickly sat up, his hands sliding up her back slowly to unhook it her for her. She let the garment slip down her arms until she was able to toss it to the side as well. She had to give him credit, then, because he actually stared into her eyes for a long while as he let his hands wander across her now bare back. She bent down to him, letting her fingers course through his thick, sleep-mussed hair, and kissed him soundly, then pulled away slightly to lick at his lips. He answered by grasping her hips tighter and bucking into her.

Finally, FINALLY, he lowered his lips to her breast, closing them around a hardened nipple, and then licked at her. The sensation shot straight down to her already moistened panties and she gasped. She glanced down at him and felt her skin flush with heat when she saw him staring up at her with a mischievous glint in his eye, his mouth still on her breast.

With great effort, she pushed him away from her and flat back down on the bed. She clambered off of him onto her hands and knees and smirked at the flash of disappointment she saw in his stare. It quickly turned back to lust as she slowly pulled his boxers down and letting them join the rest of her clothes on the floor. She moved to kneel on the bed between his slightly spread legs and ran her hands up his muscular thighs. Then she bent down, watching him all the way, and ever so slowly ran her tongue up the length of him.

It was his turn to gasp. "Fuck!" he groaned, but didn't have time to recover before she took him completely in her mouth and sucked, swirling her tongue around his length.

Before she knew it, she had been flipped completely over onto her back. Her pajama shorts and underwear were nearly ripped off. Then, Dean was above her, and she looked up at him. His eyes were almost black. Christ, she thought.

"This..." he panted, "is not ending... without you... screaming my name."

She nearly came right then.

He grabbed a handful of her long, thick, red hair, and bent down to ravage her mouth again. He bit at her lips before moving further down, sucking at her neck and then biting down hard enough to make her gasp, but only in pleasure. Then, an electrical shock coursed through her body as his fingers slid slowly inside of her, brushing at her clit. She gasped at the sensation and he stilled, his eyes flicking up to hers. His expression was questioning. She groaned.

"Don't get all fucking polite on me now," she breathed, impatience ringing throughout each syllable. He grinned- a genuine, shit-eatin' grin that made her heart stop for a second. Then, he moved up over her and thrust himself inside her in one hard, swift stroke. They both moaned at the feeling. She was blissfully warm, wet, and tight; he was stretching her in all of the best ways, already hitting spots that most men couldn't dream of finding.

Then, they began moving together. It was bizarre how quickly they found their rhythm, but perhaps it was because they both realized that neither of them were going to last very long. Each one of his thrusts was making her see stars, and her moans were growing louder and louder by the second. Her muscles contracting around him were pulling him close to the edge faster than he would like, but he couldn't bring himself to slow or stop.

She dug her nails into his back, and he pounded into her. She was getting so very close to coming.

"Oh god, Dean, I'm-"

At her words, he suddenly shifted their position, grabbing her hips and pulling her upwards until she was sitting in his lap. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he thrust upwards into her.

True to his word, she let out a scream that probably woke poor Sam, three rooms down from them. It didn't take long after that- his thrusts became manic, uncoordinated, and needy while she laced her fingers into his hair, pulling slightly. She was almost there, on the precipice, when she managed to open her eyes and look at him.

The look in his eyes was fierce and predatory, a hunter and his prey. He looked up at her, and with one final thrust, her world exploded. Her mouth formed a single word, cast up to the heavens. The waves of pleasure shot through her, and she felt her muscles contract around him. With a shout, he followed her into the abyss, and they both fell onto the bed, spent.

Later, after they had regained their strength, cleaned themselves up, and returned to bed (only hers, this time, because it was still way too early to get up for the day), he turned to her, a serious look on his face.

"You know I'm leaving town, right?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

She tilted her head at him, and passed her fingers over the crease between his eyebrows. She hadn't had any pretenses about what things were between them.

"Yeah. But I gotta ask you for one more thing," she said softly.

"What's that?"

"A shower."

There was that shit-eatin' grin again.


End file.
